Mom paused, and almost said something, but didn't. Instead she strode toward me and reached for my waist. I felt my shirt coming up and I raised my arms and mom swept it off me. Here eyes were wide and intent with hunger . . . for me. She put her hands up and I felt her fingernails dig into the muscles of my chest. She pressed them in and ran them down, over my nipples and onto my abdomen -- not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to hurt. But I wasn't about to stop her.

Her hands drew together at the waistband of my pants and...